


Slide On In

by teasoni



Series: Fourth Law of Robotics [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Begging, Blow Jobs, Bottom Connor, Customizable Android Genitalia (Detroit: Become Human), Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Edgeplay, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Smut, Hank Anderson Has a Big Dick, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Office Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Semi-Public Sex, Top Hank Anderson, Wire Play, connor is a thot and he's so valid, good old usb blasting, i am SWEATING, theyre so in love......
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26577004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teasoni/pseuds/teasoni
Summary: Connor knew Hank was in a mood from the way he was looking at him. It was a long, sideways kind of look that made Connor shiver, that sent his synapses firing all over the place with the promise it represented. Whenever Connor caught him, Hank would chuckle to himself, shake his head, and turn away.Connor knew.[or: Hank edges Connor at work and then sticks his dick somewhere he probably shouldn't]
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Series: Fourth Law of Robotics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1933114
Comments: 6
Kudos: 215





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i was horny at work so have whatever the fuck this is

Hank was in a mood. Connor knew he was. He always knew. Because Connor knew _Hank_ , maybe better than anything else by this point, and had spent hours upon hours categorizing every minute detail of his behavior. Hank told him to cut it out, but he didn’t mean it. He never does.

Connor knew Hank was in a mood from the way he was looking at him. It was a long, sideways kind of look that made Connor shiver, that sent his synapses firing all over the place with the promise it represented. Whenever Connor caught him, Hank would chuckle to himself, shake his head, and turn away.

Connor knew.

It was in the way Hank touched him; they avoided any untoward signs of affection at work, willing to separate their relationship from their jobs. It was only sensible, after all. But sometimes hands would wander, and when Hank was in a mood his touch turned firm and _close_ , so close, gripping Connor in all the places he liked it the most – in all the places people would least expect. The back of the neck, the inside of the elbow, his knee under the table. Touches that made Connor’s subroutines lag, even if only for a millisecond. And his voice – _oh_ , his voice. It would grow dusky and low, short and just as firm as his grip was. Because Connor liked that, being told what to do. It was hardwired into him.

So when Hank rapped on his desk, wrenching Connor from his daze of preconstructions (Hank called them _daydreams_ , which Connor found rather romantic), and curtly told him to meet him in the archives, how could he say no?

The archives were usually empty this time of day. Connor wasn’t stupid. He knew why they were there, why Hank had asked him to come. The filaments just beneath his chassis fizzed with the anticipation of it, spreading like a flush all over his body, deep and warm. He watched Hank, carefully, as he pretended to busy himself at one of the terminals. Connor stood idly and tried to gain control over his cooling regulators.

Hank glanced up at him from the terminal, his eyes a bright, cutting blue. “You just gonna stand there?”

Connor, puzzled, tilted his head in that puppy-dog way he always did. “You did not issue a command, Lieutenant.” Maybe, just maybe, the cadence of his voice suggested he was merely curious, and that he didn’t know what he was doing. Which, of course, wasn’t even remotely true. Connor knew _exactly_ what he was doing. Hank straightened up. His eyes twinkled.

“You lock the door?”

Connor shook his head. Hank grinned in response, and suddenly he was right _there_ , standing over Connor like he wasn’t only a few inches taller.

“Good boy.”

A hand fisted in his hair and Connor _preened._ Hank pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Connor’s mouth before urging him onto his knees. Connor goes willingly.

When Hank was in a mood, Connor was usually quick to follow. Ever since he’d discovered sex – and, by extension, the desire it entailed – it’s all he wanted to do. Hank complained about it, saying he was an old man and so on, but he was half as bad. After all, how long had it been since he’d had something this pretty practically begging for his dick all hours of the day? Hell, it almost made him feel good about himself again.

Now, gazing down at Connor on his knees like this, Hank felt arousal wrench up through his gut. He licked his lips, breath rasping between his lips, as Connor works open his pants and takes his dick in hand. Hank had been practically half-hard all day, his mind inundated with memories of Connor at his most pliant, his most willing, fucked open and begging. He didn’t know why, but he sure wasn’t complaining, especially when Connor took his cock into his soft, warm mouth. Connor met his eye, then, and had the nerve to _wink_ at him.

Hank cuffed him over the ear and was rewarded by a low laugh around his dick that he felt all the way to his scalp. Cheeky.

Connor was never designed for sucking cocks, though Hank didn’t doubt the thought had crossed the design tech’s mind at _some_ point, and it was exactly what made him so perfect. No gag reflex, no obstructions, just a tight, smooth chute for Hank to slide his cock into. And it was _wet_ , Christ, slick with whatever the fuck androids used for saliva (Connor had explained it to him, once, but Hank had difficulty listening given he was buried balls-deep in Connor at the time). Hank could just fuck.

And fuck he did.

Connor was perfect like this. Hank held his perfect face in his own very _not_ perfect hands and slid it up and down his dick. Connor gazed up at him with those perfect eyes, beneath heavy eyelids, his perfect lips slick and reddened. Perfect, perfect, perfect, and Hank had never been more in love.

Beyond the door to the archives came the tinny echo of voices; a laugh, then footsteps. They drew dangerously close before evidently taking another course, but Connor didn’t miss the way Hank’s dick twitched on his tongue. His own preconstruction software flooded him with warnings that buzzed hot along each wire. Hank let out a low, needy growl – it was a sound, Connor had learned, that Hank only ever made when very angry or very horny, and t titillated Connor whenever he heard it – and wrenched him off his cock with an obscene, wet pop. Connor licked his lips, his teeth, just for the show of it.

“Get up,” Hank ordered gruffly. Connor scrambled to obey. Hank caged him against one of the desks, huge hand anchored just below Connor’s navel, and he pressed a whiskery kiss to the side of Connor’s throat. “Pants down, pretty boy,” he rumbled. “I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t see straight.”

Connor paused, then, going completely still just long enough for Hank to notice. “I – you can’t.”

Hank pulled back with a puzzled frown knotted between his eyes. “You don’t wanna – ?”

But Connor cut him off, his face creasing in a somewhat unfamiliar way, and it took Hank longer than it should have to register it as _regret_. “I didn’t – I didn’t attach a genital component this morning.”

Hank stared blankly. He didn’t – ? Shifting back, Hank looked down past his now-flagging erection to Connor’s crotch. He shoved his hand against it, feeling, and Connor leaned against his shoulder. Shit, he wasn’t lying. There was nothing. Fuck.

But Hank was old, and he had experience, and he’d been watching porn for the last 40-odd years of his life.

“You can feel down here, right?” he asked, his voice raspy in Connor’s ear. Connor nodded against his shoulder and pressed kisses against his neck, needy in his own way, hands itching along Hanks’s sleeves. He pushed his hips forward against Hank’s hand, and when those thick fingers pressed in a little harder, he drew a sharp breath against Hank’s throat.

Gritting out a _fuck_ under his breath, Hank took firm hold of Connor’s hips and flipped him around. Connor braced his hands on the desk, feeling Hank grind his cock against the seam of his pants once, twice. “Pants down.”

Connor, as curious as he is puzzled, complied. Hank slid his hands appreciatively over Connor’s belly, his waist, up under his shirt. True to his word, Hank’s cock slides against nothing but unbroken flesh.

“Typical,” he grouses in Connor’s ear. “The one day you’re not fuckin’ horny.” He tugged Connor’s nipple harshly, making the bot’s spine curve and eliciting the sweetest noises. “I’m gonna fuck you anyway.”

Something inside Connor jumped. Fear, uncertainty. One of Hank’s hands disappeared from beneath his shirt, dropping between their bodies to give his cock a few long strokes.

“Squeeze your legs together, baby.”

Connor did. The wiry hair dusting Hank’s knuckles brushed against his skin as he guided his cock to the junction of Connor’s thighs, pressing forward, inwards. Connor’s fans began to kick up a bit, and he had to focus on breathing. Hank fucked into the tight, warm space with a sigh.

“What are you –,” Connor began, but then it all fell into place. Hank didn’t need a hole. He just needed something to fuck. His cock dragged slick and impossibly hot between Connor’s legs, and Connor – well, Connor hadn’t anticipated the sensations he received in response. “ _Oh_.”

Hank chuckled breathlessly. “Hold on, sweetheart.”

Connor knew from experience that it would be his only warning.

Hank fucked him long and hard, just as he would any other time – except this time Connor couldn’t _come_ , couldn’t release any of the pressure mounting low in his pelvis. His weight sagged against Hank’s barreled chest as he fucked him, sighing out moans at the explosion of feedback between his legs. It was – good. _So_ good. Better than Connor could ever imagine this sort of thing being.

“Good?” Hank rasped against his ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth, and Connor almost melted.

Eventually Connor managed to get something of a handle on himself – just when he began to fuck himself back on Hank’s cock, however, one of Hank’s hands came to rest between the jut of his hipbones.

He pressed down. Connor didn’t know what happened in that moment, but the next moment his vision shivered, and he was flooded with warnings. His hips jerked erratically and he _would_ have come – he would have come violently.

But he couldn’t. Not like this.

Hank could, though, and he did. He fucked the slick heat of Connor’s thighs, pale and freckled and hairless, like they were made for it. When he came he _kept going_ , fucking the wet mess in and out, until Connor was flushed and incoherent. And then he laughed, stroking his hands over Connor’s hips, kissing his ear.

“You can’t come like this, can you?” he asked, and if Connor was any less fucked out he might have commended Hank for remembering that. “Pity. You’re gonna have to wait ‘til we get home.” He pressed his fingers between Connor’s legs, up against the unbroken flesh there, messing around the slickness. “Don’t clean up. I want you like this ‘til then. You’re gonna put on whatever junk you want, and I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you squirt all over my cock. Got it?”

Connor gasped long and deep. Hank really _was_ in a mood. “Yes, Lieutenant,” he rasped, accepting Hank’s kiss eagerly.

Connor’s internal monitor told him it was only 11:34am. It was going to be a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my kink is clancy brown saying 'baby'

Connor had been… uncharacteristically quiet. So quiet, in fact, that even _Reed_ noticed, catching Hank’s eye behind his back and gesturing very obviously between them. Hank just glowered at him, but there was little heat behind it; he knew exactly why Connor had gone so mellow, why his little LED kept spinning, spinning, spinning. Aside from the LED, in fact, Connor barely showed anything – but to Hank, that was more than enough of a tell.

Connor was on edge. Horrifically, _unbearably_ on edge.

His tactile sensors were active – concentrated, even – in what would be his _erogenous zone_ , if he was a human, even in the absence of a genital component. He could feel both pain and pleasure there, thanks to CyberLife’s post-revolution patches, but he couldn’t engage any sexual functions unless something was installed. It was a bug, he supposed, and while it could sometimes be an annoyance, it wasn’t enough for him to do much about it. Usually he had some sort of component installed – most androids did, these days. The pleasure functions could be triggered manually, too, and there was something very sexy about having Hank’s hands deep in his wires.

The bug wasn’t an issue until Hank found out about it, and suddenly teasing Connor along that edge had become one of his favorite pastimes. One could almost call it a hobby.

Because Connor – severe, rigid, perfect Connor – was so beautiful when he did. Drawn along, lead on by little more than a promise, coming apart in all the ways he never allowed himself. Usually, Connor was focused and sharp in all things, but when Hank wound him up this tight, it all fell away, and Connor unfurled for him like a flower.

“Relax a little, would ya?” Hank groused from across his desk. “I’m getting a migraine just looking at you.”

Connor’s LED spun as he drew himself back to the moment again, away from thoughts of Hank’s hands. He didn’t reply; he offered little more than a grimace. The tightness in his face made Hank chuckle. Connor’s internal HUD told him it was still early in the afternoon. Time always seemed to pass far slower like this – Connor still wasn’t sure why some things made the passage of time, which he knew to be an invariable constant, change. Invariable constants shouldn’t change – AND Connor knew they didn’t, not really – but it _felt_ that way.

Every time he moved, Hank’s spend would tug against his skin. It was dry, now, tight and almost uncomfortable, but Connor’s circuits buzzed whenever his mind was drawn to its presence – which was most of the time. His attention strayed, over and over, to the memory of Hank’s cock fucking wet and sloppy between his thighs, and the pressure in his abdomen would ignite again.

He wondered what Hank had pressed, and his hand ghosts along his own hip, over the centre of his pelvis, where his bladder might have been. He scans his own biocomponents – there’s a few clusters of cabling, a space reserved for genital additions, and a sachet of lubricant. Nothing that could – or _should_ – elicit pleasure when pressed upon. Connor made a note to examine this further later on.

Thankfully, Connor was able to distract himself for the rest of the afternoon when he and Hank were called out to a scene. It was basic and required very little processing power on Connor’s part, which was disappointing. Hank seemed to feel differently, however, if the hand groping Connor’s thigh in the dark old building was anything to go by.

By the time they were finally able to punch out for the day, Connor was full of misdirected electrical signals that _refused_ to diffuse. The android equivalent, he supposed, of being almost too horny to see straight. It was just _Hank_ , Hank fucking between his thighs, Hank’s hands on his belly and his chest, Hank’s voice in his ear, Hank’s breath on his throat. Hank’s fingers pressing the soft flesh of his hips.

“You match the traffic light,” Hank joked as they rolled to a stop at a yellow light, and Connor made a surprised little noise. He must have been more affected than he thought. Hank, though – he didn’t have an LED that could clue Connor in, no, but his voice was low and dusky, and Connor noted all the typical signs of human arousal. The air was thick with it. “You haven’t said barely a word all goddamn day.”

Connor paused. Thought a little. There were many things he wanted to say. Eventually, he settled on not saying anything.

The pressure was unbearable. It was like – like he was broken. All his diagnostics came back clean, but it wasn’t right. It didn’t feel right. The anticipation was much the same as waiting for an injured part to be swapped out, something broken to be fixed. The promise of relief. It wasn’t painful, but – Connor _needed_. He needed so badly. Glancing across through the half-dark of the evening, he saw a distinct bulge in the front of Hank’s jeans.

He swallowed down the flood of lubricant that welled under his tongue.

When they got home, Connor got out of the car as rigidly as he would if all his joints had rusted together. Hank seemed infuriatingly relaxed, but Connor knew he was putting it on. He could _read_ him, after all, and he knew Hank was just as worked up. His suspicions were confirmed when they stepped into the darkness of Hank’s porch, when Hank’s hand found his arm and wrenched him into his side, fingers squeezing hard enough to send delighted feedback all over Connor’s body. His breath, his scratchy beard, the smell of his sweat. Connor let out a noise that would make Amanda turn in her grave.

“I’m gonna let Sumo out, give him his dinner, and you’re gonna go put on something nice and wait for me in the bedroom.”

It wasn’t a question. Connor’s subroutines stuttered anyway, and something inside him grew very heavy. He nodded.

Connor had no problem stepping around Sumo, who lumbered to meet them at the door just as he always did. He heard Hank fussing around in the kitchen, the opening of the back door, and even as he headed into the bedroom Connor could feel the cold flush of air it let in. His thirium pump worked a little faster to try and keep up with the ever-raising load on his systems as he went to the box in which he kept his genital components – he had a nice little collection of them, now, all shapes and sizes. He considered them for a moment before choosing one and going into the bathroom to attach it. It was easier there, in case something spilled, and the light was better. Connor balanced a foot on the edge of the tub and sighed with relief as he fumbled with the port to release his pelvic plate.

The genital attachment was halfway to his groin when he paused, catching sight of his reflection in the mirror. Hair mussed just a little, cheeks bright with color, still wearing his shirt and his tie and his jacket – _exhilarated_. Excited. Hank had a strange way of doing that to him, he thought, and smiled to himself in the mirror. He placed the component, gently, on the edge of the bath.

It felt a bit… weird, really, looking at himself like this. He’d never given any great thought to the opening left by his pelvic plate; it wasn’t very big, maybe enough to fit a hand inside, and it was more slippery than other openings in his chassis.

The idea would have punched the air clean out of his lungs, if he’d had any. A warning pertaining to a rise in core temperature blinked in his vision. He glanced at himself in the mirror again, mesmerized by his own expression, equal parts horrified and wondrous.

“Connor?” Hank called. “You good in there?”

Connor’s throat clicked as he began to breathe again. The component on the bath remained there, forgotten.

Connor padded into the bedroom to find Hank already there, shirt unbuttoned, lazily fisting his cock. Connor could barely tear eyes from it, nor could he stop the way his hardware began to thrum with want. _Want_. Such a new, furious thing. Hank’s eyes dragged over him. His hand stopped moving. He looked almost… alarmed.

“Connor –,”

“I want –,”Connor’s voice punched out of him all at once, his intonation slightly off. Hank’s eyes darkened. “I want to try something.”

Hank’s cock gave a little twitch, and when he spoke, his voice was so low that it was barely audible. “All right.”

Connor made his way across the room to the bed, sinking down onto his hands and knees, eyes never once leaving Hank’s. All the tension from the day seemed to be concentrated low in his abdomen, a heat that felt _physical_ , somehow, warm and wet and swollen. Hank, propped up against the headboard, chuckled as he worked Connor’s tie off with the hand not working his dick. “Too eager to get on my dick, huh? Didn’t even bother getting undressed?” His amusement was deep and warm and cascaded through Connor like honey. “Get this off, c’mon.”

Connor flushed a little. Hank was right – it had been all he could think about. Everything else fell to the wayside. He shucked off his jacket, fingers a little slick from the opening between his legs, and set about working the buttons of his shirt open. Before he could finish, however, Hank fisted one huge hand in Connor’s collar and pulled him in for a kiss. It was long and bone-meltingly deep, and Connor couldn’t help but moan hoarsely into it; Hank swallowed the sound with a laugh.

“I don’t know how I lasted so long,” Hank confessed against the soft, wet sigh of Connor’s lips. “Seein’ you so worked up all day. It made me wanna fuck you into the next goddamn dimension.”

Connor shivered at the thought, angling for another kiss. “Should have,” he murmured. “Wanted you to.”

Hank moaned desperately. “Christ, in a perfect world I would, kid. Fuck you deep and fill you up in front of everyone. Show ‘em who you belong to, huh?”

Keening, Connor reached blindly for Hank’s cock only to have his hand shoved away. Hank tutted at him.

“Show me this idea of yours first, baby,” he crooned. Connor loved when Hank crooned like that, all soft and loving yet so wholly dark at the same time. “You worried me, walking in all opened up like that.”

Connor’s systems skipped a little. He had to breathe a little harder, now, to try and stop from overheating. Reluctantly, he pulled back from Hank and settled onto his back, propped up on his elbows. His legs, splayed over Hank’s hips, gave him the most delicious view. His soft thighs, his taut belly, every single slope and curve. The hole was… well. Hank wasn’t sure what to think of it yet, but he couldn’t deny it interested him.

Shyly, Connor stroked the tips of his fingers around the edge of the opening. It glistened with… something. Hank guessed it was some sort of lubricant. The skin had receded a bit around the edges, just like it did whenever Connor went around opening himself up, which made it look a lot less creepy than it would have otherwise. Hank resumed stroking himself, long and slow. He’d been half-hard all day just thinking about fucking Connor.

The kid still had Hank’s spunk clinging to his thighs. _Christ._

A delightful blush spread down over Connor’s face and neck, dusting his shoulders and daubing him with color. Connor didn’t blush often. If he did, it was usually more of a flush, from exertion or exhilaration or the like. _Blushing,_ though – Connor didn’t do that. He was rarely embarrassed enough. Abashed, sure, that was common enough when trying to navigate a world you knew next to nothing about. But he had a slick kind of confidence Hank rarely saw in anybody, and Connor usually took most things in his stride.

This, though? No.

Connor was ashamed of wanting, even now. Hank figured it was a leftover from when he was still under CyberLife’s thumb, told over and over and over again that he should not _want_ , that he couldn’t want, that wanting meant he was a deviant. And Connor had hunted deviants. It was his entire purpose of existence, before. Not now, though, not anymore, and Hank reminded him of that every chance he got.

“I want –,” Connor’s voice came out staticky. He was stressed. His LED flickered, blue, blue, yellow. Hank stroked a large, rough hand up Connor’s shin, over his knee, and the moment turned soft. Connor grimaced at him and Hank could see the effort on his face. Blushing, dusky pink, perfect as a sunset, and Hank couldn’t look away. He massaged his thumb into the sinew of Connor’s inner thigh.

“Tell me what you want, sweet boy.”

Something behind Connor’s expression loosened. Hank knew how to play this. He wasn’t a decorated police lieutenant for nothing, after all.

“I want you to be inside me, here –,” A single, pale finger tugged at the hole. Those doe eyes held Hank, begging where his voice failed. “Please, Hank.”

Hank rasped out his boy’s name and pitched up onto his knees, leaning his weight over Connor’s body. Hell, he’d seen more than his fair share of weird shit, and this honestly didn’t even make the list. He felt down blindly between them, following the path of Connor’s forearm to his wrist, then his hand, and his fingers, to the hole there. Hank wished there was something else he could call it – _hole_ felt so impersonal. He kissed Connor’s parted lips.

“Want me to fuck you here?” he asked, gravelly against Connor’s mouth. He felt around the opening of the hole, the smooth, hard ridges of plastic, dipping his fingertips inside. Connor shivered. A good reaction. The port wasn’t _big_ – big enough for Hank’s hand, maybe. His thoughts quickly devolved into what Connor might do if Hank put his whole hand in there, messed up his wiring a little bit – _shit_. His dick began to leak appreciatively at the idea.

“Yes,” Connor whispered, hands clinging to every part of Hank they could reach. “Inside – bare.”

Hank groaned and kissed him hard enough to push him back into the bed. Connor made a delighted little _mmph_ sound and kissed him back with no less urgency.

“So long as you don’t electrocute me or somethin’,” Hank muttered, trying his best not to think about their complete disregard of Health & Safety protocol, which certainly wouldn’t recommend sticking your dick into an android’s open port – though Hank figures it’s probably be done before by someone.

“I w-won’t,” Connor assured him in his broken little way, breaths pulling sharp and small and shallow. “Everything is – lubricated, and the housing is –,” That was enough for Hank, who swallowed the rest of the words with a kiss, taking Connor’s tongue into his mouth and making Connor arch his spine in response. His hardware was heating up, by now running hotter than a human would. Hank reached his fingers deeper, probing, exploring, delighting in the way Connor twitched when he did.

It was tighter than he expected. He’d seen inside Connor’s chassis a few times, sure, but – this was different. The cables were housed in silicone and thick, thermoresistant mesh. Hank didn’t know why or how, but everything was _slippery_ , like it was coated in some kind of lubricant. The stems were clustered together, filling the space of Connor’s pelvis surprisingly tightly. Hank pushed around with his fingers, his heartrate climbing by the second. Connor was shaking, his face angled down between their bodies, his face blooming with surprise.

“How’s it feel?” Hank murmured, and Connor let out a startled noise in response; he tried to push his hips down on Hank’s hand, which he took as a good sign, and pressed in with his fingers a little more. He touched something smooth and soft, and his fingers suddenly moved too easily. He withdrew them and found them _drenched._

“Lubricant,” Connor choked. Hank could feel the buzz of his cooling regulators inside his chassis just from holding him. Poor kid was working overtime. “External intrusion identified, systems release more when – in case it is stuck –,” His words were all cobbled together, but Hank didn’t mind. He got the picture.

“You’re wet for me, Con,” Hank mused, bringing his wet hand to Connor’s mouth and pressing his forefinger between his lips. Connor sucked in his fingers greedily. “Some things really don’t change, huh?”

Connor shook his head. “Always for you, Lieutenant,” he gasped when Hank pulled his fingers free. “Please, fuck me, my system warnings have become critical –,”

Hank groaned and rose onto his knees again, pulling Connor’s hips into his lap. His dick, fat and slick, slid along the opening of the hole, and Connor squirmed. He was burning up, arching into each touch, slick and dripping and begging Hank to fuck him to pieces. Hank fisted his cock and stroked once, twice, slapping the head of it down over the opening.

“Sure you want this, sweet boy?” he teased, and rage very briefly colored Connor’s features. Connor snapped out his name in a voice drawn high with tension, though he knew Hank could barely hold it together.

Hank angled his cock down and _pushed_. He slid in between the cables, all slick silicone, and it felt – weird. But a good weird, like fucking something you’re probably not supposed to fuck, which happened to be _exactly_ what Hank was doing. Connor’s insides pressed strangely around him, almost clumsy in the way they shifted to allow for his girth. Hank wasn’t small by any stretch, and Connor began to pant high and tense, like someone about to vomit.

“You okay?” Hank rumbled, hair sticking to his sweat-slick forehead. Connor’s eyes rolled in their sockets and his entire body seized when Hank sank into him to the hilt.

“Don’t – can’t stop –,”

 _Fuck_ , Hank thought.

Hank’s fists sank into the mattress on either side of Connor’s head as he angled his weight forwards, letting it sink down and bend Connor’s knees back until they touched his ears. Connor sounded alarmingly human, then, choking on his breath and nearly crying with pleasure. The angle was unlike anything either of them had felt before: tight and slick and _strange_. Everything felt far more sensitive like this – Hank was _inside_ him, truly inside him, and Connor felt him more intimately than he could ever have imagined. He choked on it, overwhelmed.

Later, when Hank was in his right mind again, he would realize that this was the point he should have warned Connor. As things were, however, he didn’t, and thank _God_ for that.

If he had warned Connor about how hard he was going to fuck him, he’d never had gotten the chance to see Connor cry from pleasure, and that would’ve been a missed opportunity of a lifetime.

“Hank, _Hank_ \- !” Connor wheezed, desperate, as Hank pounded into him. Again and again and again. Hank’s thick cock spread open his insides, carving out a space just for him, contaminating everything his systems worked so hard to keep clean. He was Hank’s, now, inside and out, in all aspects, and the knowledge of it drowned him. Hank mouthed hot kisses against his face and his ears, and Connor began to _cry_ , saline tears beading and sliding only for Hank to lick them from his cheeks. And, oh, the _sounds_ – they were far worse than the sound of flesh on flesh. It was wet and slick and obscene, but fuck if it wasn’t hot. Hank grinned and laughed, voice wavering with the force of his fucking.

And then Hank reared back onto his knees, gripping Connor’s ankles above the poor boy’s head, gave a few last powerful thrusts, and came.

He came so deep inside Connor that if Connor had the capability of thinking about _anything_ at that moment (which he didn’t), he might be concerned about ever getting it out again (which he wasn’t). All he could think about was Hank. Hank, Hank, Hank. Hank’s fingers. Hank’s cock. Hank’s come sluicing around inside him.

Connor dipped in and out of standby as his systems struggled to recover. Hank, after pulling out and catching his breath, refrained from fingering his come even deeper (like he wanted to) and instead flopped down beside Connor (which he also wanted to do). There was a crick in his back he knows will give him grief, but that was a problem for later.

“You okay?” Hank asked again when Connor finally broke the surface, eyes blinking open and LED fading to stillness. The first time Connor tried to speak, the only thing that came out was residual static. It took him a minute or two to recalibrate.

“I’m very good, Hank,” Connor eventually replied. The smile he gave Hank was easy and entirely sated. “I needed to recalibrate. Having such pressure on my processes for so long was –,”

“You don’t gotta explain,” Hank interrupted fondly, kissing him and smoothing the hair back from Connor’s face. Handsome, so handsome. “Sure you’re gonna be okay with my, uh – y’know.”

“Yes,” Connor said, his smile turning wry. “Although it is technically a contaminant, your ejaculate poses no risk to my internal integrity, and as such, I have elected to leave it there.”

Hank paused as he processed that.

“You’re gonna kill me one of these days,” he muttered, though not unhappily, and Connor’s laugh rang bell-like above them.


End file.
